Reflection
by Tiva4evaxxx
Summary: Post Somalia oneshot, tiva, and very angsty.'She felt the beginnings of teardrops prick at her dark, dulled eyes as she stared into the mirror. The sight should have shocked her, but it didn't, all she saw was the ghost of the person she had once been.'


**Ahh, depressing one shots. What fun. Warning: Depressing. Well, i think it is, i suppose it's a matter of opinion. :P But i hope you like it anyway :) **

**Disclaimer: I own... three NCIS boxsets, but not the show, unfortunately.**

She felt the beginnings of teardrops prick at her dark, dulled eyes as she stared into the mirror. The sight should have shocked her, but it didn't, all she saw was the ghost of the person she had once been. These days she felt so trapped sometimes she couldn't breathe. And there was no reason anymore, to feel this way. The feeling should have evaporated as soon as she had got out, but it hadn't. And that had shocked her. Here now she still felt like she was being smothered, drowning. She wanted to run but it was no use. She couldn't get away from what deep down she knew was haunting her, herself.

She lifted her arm, and her reflection followed her. She just wanted to check she was still there, still alive. Her partners words from the day before echoed in her head, 'Damnit Ziva, you're not dead yet," He'd yelled angrily, tears spilling over and making tracks on his cheeks. The memory of the anger and hurt in his eyes pushed her over the edge and she could no longer fight the tears which overflowed.

The tears blurred her vision, but she could still see well enough to realize how defeated she looked. Tears streaming down her face and eyes deadened, almost black. Tears that were pointless, because she was crying, but she couldn't feel a damn thing. She was out of hope, yet she hadn't died out there. Maybe the problem was that she had expected to. Either way, this is just how it is.

Her frail hand reached out towards the tap, and she slowly twisted it on, cold water flowing freely out of it. Splashing the cold water across her face gave her the shock she needed, washing away any evidence of her tears - even though there was no one to see them anyway. Numbing her. That was what she really wanted, to stop feeling, to stop being able to feel.

She couldn't ask for anything more, anything more than numbness.

But he, he made her feel. He made her feel the blood coursing through her veins, her heart pumping in her chest, his lips as they attacked hers, full of pain and hurt and anger. Mostly anger.

She looked up again, and wondered how she'd gotten from there to here. Droplets of water were barely visible on her skin, her bruised lips. She looked into her eyes from the mirror. It was like looking into holes. Again, she wondered when all this had happened. When she had stopped caring whether she lived or died, when the life inside of her had diminished, disappeared. Maybe it was a gradual process, maybe that was why she hadn't realized what had happening to her until it was too late. Because there's no real going back now.

Slowly, she began to peel her shirt off, item by item removing her layers of clothing, until she was stood there, left in just her underwear. Exposed. Vulnerable. She traced with her hands the cuts over her shoulders, running her hands over her bruised stomach, over her scarred back. She turned and looked over her shoulder at herself, wrapping her arms around her body like a protective blanket, hiding her. Her back was scarred the most, when she used to feel the scars when she was still out there, it would shake her very slightly, jolt her. Now, she just felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Some of the scars would heal, some would not. The purple bruising spread across her stomach and chest would fade quickly, the memories of getting them, would not.

She jumped as she heard a knock on the door, and, panicking, went for the nearest thing that would cover all of her up. She headed to the door, knowing who it was, but knowing also what would happen if she didn't open up. She was tired. So tired, and she didn't want to see him so upset, so angry. Or more to the point, she didn't want to him like that, knowing she was the trigger of those emotions, when all she felt was emptiness inside.

She opened the door to him, and watched the pain and sadness in his eyes. But she was tired, she was too tired to feel anything. And as long as the numbness stayed, he couldn't. He had the power to make it stop, the power to make her feel. Like yesterday, when she had become dangerously close to the edge. She had almost remembered she still had the ability to feel. And she didn't want to. Not anymore. The pain she had felt was enough to last anyone a lifetime. But he, he made it so hard. If it weren't for the numbness, she would hate him. More of his words rang again in her head, 'be angry at me, scream, shout, hit me, but DO something, anything – anything is better than nothing.'

"Why are you here, Tony?" She asked, like she was looking straight through him.

"To talk to you," he whispered, noting the way she pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her.

"What is there to talk about?"

"Yesterday, everything."

"It is not important, you can g-" he grabbed her shoulder, as she turned to walk away, and the over large dressing gown slipped down, revealing a little of her purple-tainted skin. In shocked silence, they stood there. And, doing something he would never have dared to do to her unless she was in this state, he took the edge of the fabric in his hands, and slipped it slowly off her shoulders, dreading what he would find.

He should have expected it really, but it still hurt so much to see. Her petite body was covered in cuts, and bruises and scars. And she was just sat there, showing no signs of emotion. Every time he looked at her, he flinched, yet he couldn't look away. No matter how much it hurt. He wished he could help her, he wished he could fix her - he wanted to more than anything. But he was just so angry, at everyone, everything. For taking her away from him, for this.

For her being so far gone, he didn't know how to start reaching out to her. He was afraid that if she went any further she would slip away completely. Just a tiny bit further, and she would go past the point of no return. In her opinion, she already had, in his, he could still help. She could still come back. She needs to hold on for just a little bit longer, while he works out what he can do to bring her back to him.

Before he realizes he is crying, the tears are rolling down his cheeks. Before he can think about stopping them because of the effect they might have on her.

Where the hell was she? Where was Ziva? She was still there somewhere, but this, this was not right. And every second he spent with her, trying to heal her, trying to make her better, it killed him. It was breaking his heart.

"I want you back," Tony told her, looking at her, the hurt shockingly clear in his eyes.

"I am here," She stated simply, "I am back,"

Softly, but without hesitation, he replied, "No, no you're not."

**Please review, i worked hard on this one. **

**xxxxxx**


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